


The Accidental Pied Piper

by JaineyBaby



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 14 kids and a bard, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad use of the Law of Surprise, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eskel has goats, For ArtistsFuneral, Hurt Jaskier, I take suggestions for tags, I'm Bad At Tagging, Jaskier becomes an accidental parent, Lack of Communication, Lambert has a big mouth, M/M, Supportive Witchers, That angst gonna hit hard tho, There's also going to be some thinking that the other person is dead for a bit in the middle, There's gonna be some fighting, Vesemir is soft on the kids and Jaskier, War time, canon-typical danger, devastated jaskier, fate has a weird sense of humor, post mountain, woops i broke him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaineyBaby/pseuds/JaineyBaby
Summary: Over the years, Jaskier had played fast and loose with the idea of "Law of Surprise" and never really considered the consequences of it until Nelfgaard started the war and suddenly he has a brood of children to protect. There is only one place he can think of where they would be safe, but it means going back to the Blue Mountains with the Witchers. His Witcher.He hadn't spoken to Geralt since the Dragon Hunt nearly four years ago. Sometimes the best plans are not the smartest plans.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 195
Kudos: 369
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. How to Acquire a Paddling of Ducks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [artistsfuneral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artistsfuneral/gifts).



> This was inspired by artistsfuneral on tumblr's idea: 
> 
> "He may have provoked the law of surprise a few times and some look like they could be his own. They differ in age. The oldest is 15 and demands that they are already an adult. The youngest is just a babe that Jaskier cradles in his arms. They all have met over the last two weeks, because destiny is a bitch and decided to hand them all over to Jaskier in one go.
> 
> Now he is a bard surrounded by a dozen kids. It's summer, it's hot, they're in Kaedwen. Near the Blue Mountains... and Jaskier may or may not had composed a rhyme to remember the save way to Kaer Morhen, the first time Geralt took him. Something along the lines “along the riverbed, take the third step, or lose your head“ etc.
> 
> So Jaskier... and his twelve children, start to climb up the mountain. Many scraped knees and a twisted ankle later and somehow they made it to the keep. It's in the middle of summer, so not even Vesemir is there. So no one can tell them to go away... and they settle down in the old keep.
> 
> Vesemir makes his way up the mountain three weeks later and arrives to the sound of a lute and children laughing."
> 
> So I took the idea and just ran with it.

Jaskier lingered in the hall as he overheard the other professors talk in hushed tones. Cintra had fallen to Nilfgaard. There had been mentions of a white-haired Witcher seen there, rumors of his fateful ties to the orphaned princess in great supply. As far as anyone had heard, they both had made it out, but not together. Jaskier says a silent prayer to whatever destiny or fate is spinning its wheels across the continent that the Child Surprise makes her way safely to where she’s supposed to be. 

Sometimes, Jaskier thinks, fate has a weird sense of humor as Nilfgaard began to spread across the continent.

The war came to Oxenfurt in ways that Jaskier could have never expected, though looking back, it only made sense that this was the way fate was going to get him. The first were the twins, Thomelin and Reinfred, twelve years old and holding onto each other for dear life. They were boney and trembling and Jaskier could not bring himself to turn them away. The Law of Surprise would not have it any other way. 

Barely a week later, 3 more showed up, a young girl with two much younger ones in tow. He gave Lilion a warm roll and told her she had been brave getting Ivette and Helena there safely and that he was very proud of her. The dread she had been carrying in her shoulders melted. He kept looking at Ivette, barely five and her eyes and nose looked too familiar to him for him to be comfortable with. Some things were fate… Some things were folly. When Dannet showed up, his crooked grin and floppy brown hair, dirty and roguish, Jaskier did everything he could not to faint. This was bound to happen, but now the wheels of Destiny were just having a fucking lark. 

Within a month, it was late spring, and Jaskier found himself in a house full of children that he was responsible for. Fourteen in all, from the ages of three to fifteen. Pyotr, the fifteen-year-old was moody and determined to be independent. 

“Pytor, fate brought you to my door. You are here because of the Law of Surprise, and neither of us is going to tempt fate by you going off on your own.” Jaskier was firm but not unkind. There was something about him that reminded him of another brooding easily annoyed fellow. The answering grunt sealed it. Jaskier was going to give his life for any of these kids, and he was going to try not to play favorites. 

It was Joneta and Gunthert that came in from the market one day, fear in their eyes. Gunther was the first one to get the words out. 

“Nilfengard is coming this way. We can’t stay.” 

The children all swarmed around Jaskier, clutching to him as he took in their faces. He had managed to keep his newly found family afloat with picking up extra lectures but would it be enough? He looked at Pyotr, who held Adda and Ivette’s hands, five years old apiece and shaken. 

“Alright, my ducks. This is what we’re going to do.” The plan was simple. He was going to get a wagon and horse and he was going to take his little flock, and head into the Blue Mountains, to Kaer Morhen. It was still well before high summer and he knew the way from Oxenfurt. Most of all, he knew that no certain Witchers would be around for another six months, to say the least. The idea of running to hide in Kaer Morhen isn’t his best, nor does he want to do it, not really. But his options are running low. 

Then there are the Witchers themselves. How does he explain any of this to either party? But he’s had his ducks for a few months now, and most of them have fallen asleep listening to his many heroic tales of his Witcher friends. Only the older ones would still hesitate, and only just. He thinks that if he does this though, once the children are there, there is no going back. He’ll have to make his case to Vesemir at the very least. 

The cart turned out easier to find than he thought it would, having asked around at the university. One of the wainwrights that ran the apprenticeship for the university had just mended an old shabby cart, “But it will get you where you need to go, Bard.” In the end, it cost Jaskier a reserve of wine and a few coins but the cart was theirs. Emme had come to him on the back of an old but sturdy draft horse who listened to her just in a way that reminded him of Roach. He only let her hitch him into the rigging. It surprised Jaskier how her small hands seemed so practiced at it. 

“My papa…” But then she stopped and looked up at the horse, rubbing gently at his nose. 

“I know, sweetheart. You did amazing. Come on, let’s get the others loaded and we’ll be on our way.” His nerves were starting to get the best of him. He wasn’t the only one in Oxenfurt starting to pack up and he worried about the roads. 

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Thomelin asked from next to the cart. He and his brother were helping bring down everyone’s things. It was a tight fit with the children, but between the fifteen of them and their supplies and Jaskier's lute, he realized how very little his children had left in this world. He could not let that break his heart right now. 

“Do I-” Jaskier gave a playfully exasperated huff. “Do I know where I’m going!?” He grinned through his fake outrage, making the kids giggle as he bent down to scoop up Helena, her pudgy toddler arms going easily around his neck. “I am the greatest bard of the Continent, the former personal travel companion of the White Wolf of Kaer Morhen! Do I know where I am going?” He blew a raspberry. 

“So no…” Pyotr chimed in, followed by a smattering of more giggles. 

_ You sound just like him and you have no clue, do you?  _ Jaskier rustled the boy’s hair cause he knew he hated it. “I know where I’m going. I wrote it in a song.” Pyotr only rolled his eyes and he could almost hear Geralt grumbling. “But we won’t really need that until we get close to the pass going along the Buina.” He looked down the road, watching as the people of Oxenfurt went about their daily business, though he could feel the tension in the air, strung tighter than a new lute.

The wagon had made things easier than carrying fourteen children across the land by himself. Jaskier couldn’t help but lay awake some nights after setting up camp and getting the little ones down to sleep, that this trip would have been easier with Geralt. 

He stops that particular caravan of thought before it can really get moving. Before his brood had found him, Jaskier had spent so many nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, exploring all the what-ifs of the last conversation he had had with Geralt. _What if Geralt hadn’t shouted? What if he had said yes? What if he had come back to the coast with Jaskier then and along the way, there were other things Jaskier could finally feel free enough to ask him? To tell him? What if… what if…_

What if there was no end to this war and the Witchers all fell to Nelfgaard and Jaskier wouldn’t be able to protect Warner or Joneta or Giles? What if he had to watch his Pyotr or Adda or sweet tiny Helena be pulled away from him? 

Jaskier sat up, looking around the fire, counting their heads. Dannet grumbled in his sleep and huffed. Emme’s head popped up from the other side of him, her eyes finding Jaskier’s easily in the low light. 

She cocked her head, her dark auburn curls reminding him of a farmer he had helped fix his wagon wheel nearly thirteen years ago. A silent  _ ‘Are you alright?’  _ He smiled at her, nodding and gestured for her to get some sleep. He waited until her head was back down in her sleep roll before he frowned, taking in the sleeping forms around him. 

There had been a time where Jaskier would just ask for the Law of Surprise for repayment for the things that people seemed so determined to repay him for when they had nothing to offer. Usually, this had resulted in a chicken or a few acres here and there. But now, looking around the camp, besides the two that he knew had nothing to do with fate so much as another four-letter word, he had never before considered the true scope of his claims. 

He ran a hand over his face, moving to bring his knees up to his chest. There was at least another three weeks of hard travel ahead of them, even with the cart. Jaskier only hoped that he would make it to Kaer Morhen with all his brood in one piece. 

He would have to deal with Geralt and his ilk when the time came. 


	2. Ghosts on the Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier finds himself making his way to Kaer Morhen with a wagon full of children while trying to gather up the pieces of his former life on the Path. Things are not easy, but they're making do. 
> 
> The war and Witchers are not far behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by artistsfuneral on tumblr's idea:
> 
> "He may have provoked the law of surprise a few times and some look like they could be his own. They differ in age. The oldest is 15 and demands that they are already an adult. The youngest is just a babe that Jaskier cradles in his arms. They all have met over the last two weeks, because destiny is a bitch and decided to hand them all over to Jaskier in one go.
> 
> Now he is a bard surrounded by a dozen kids. It's summer, it's hot, they're in Kaedwen. Near the Blue Mountains... and Jaskier may or may not had composed a rhyme to remember the save way to Kaer Morhen, the first time Geralt took him. Something along the lines “along the riverbed, take the third step, or lose your head“ etc.
> 
> So Jaskier... and his twelve children, start to climb up the mountain. Many scraped knees and a twisted ankle later and somehow they made it to the keep. It's in the middle of summer, so not even Vesemir is there. So no one can tell them to go away... and they settle down in the old keep.
> 
> Vesemir makes his way up the mountain three weeks later and arrives to the sound of a lute and children laughing."
> 
> So I took the idea and just ran with it.

They had made it to Mirt without too much trouble, stopping regularly, living by what Jaskier could hunt, and what he had taught some of the older kids to gather. Lilion and Emme, who had grown up on farms, were fast at learning new plants. Reinford and Thomlin knew how to fish pretty reliably and Pyotr began tagging along with Jaskier when he went hunting. 

By the time they regrouped at the camp, Jaskier was so incredibly proud that first evening of how well his little family was providing for themselves. There were things they still had to stop off in towns for, but Jaskier realized pretty quickly that having fourteen children running about a busy market was enough to send him into hysterics. 

He had lost sight of Giles and Fraunk once and it was enough for him to swear off stopping in the towns almost altogether. They hadn’t been far, but after that, he ended up paying more attention to counting heads of his brood than picking up supplies. 

There was another time that the twins had decided that they would try their luck at a street game and nearly cost them all their money had Jaskier not stepped in and made it very clear what he thought about a grown man taking money off of young children. He had made a note that he would teach his children the finer points of gambling when they were older, and they weren’t running for their lives. 

No, he had learned fairly quickly that one bard and a wagon of children were both easy targets in busy streets and too much for his nerves to handle. Towns were for when they absolutely needed something. 

But Mirt was one of the last places they could stop off for any major supplies before hooking west and making their way to the pass so he had set up the camp with the kids and told the other ones to hold down the fort while he was gone. He hated leaving them unprotected like that but there were few options for him getting the things that they needed to finish their journey. 

Jaskier purchased a new for the wagon, a crate of rations to snack on if the game got scarce, and a new roll of fishing line. But his big score was the new bow that was wrapped in oilcloth slung to his back for Pyotr. He knew that it would be better to have two hunters for fifteen along the Path and once they reached the keep than just one. He restocked the saddlebag he kept for medical emergencies and made his way back to camp with the Horse, as Emme had named him, loaded down. 

“Look at us, Horse, aren’t we a pair? I think we’re both a bit long in the tooth to be caring for a dozen and so younglings.” Horse just trotted beside him, huffing slightly, giving a flick of his ear as he did when Jaskier spoke to him. It felt like it meant the horse understood but didn’t care. “Handsome fellow like you, I’m sure you thought your life would be a bit different than traipsing around the continent with a bard and a litter of smaller humans.” Horse flicked his ears back again, pressing his nose against Jaskier’s elbow. 

“Treats!? Again? You beg more than Roach! At least you don’t chew on my sleeves…” Jaskier reached into one of the bags and fished out a sugar cube. “You’ll like Lady Roach. I look forward to seeing her again. She’s brave and smart. Just like you. Not nearly as sturdy though.” He liked to think that flattery would make Horse more cooperative; it hadn’t not worked so far. 

“Can you keep a secret? I don’t know if I’m ready to see Geralt again. What he had said… then…” His brows knitted together. “I actually don’t know what I would have done had it not been for the children. Nilfgaard would still be marching towards Oxenfurt, and it’s not like Geralt would be coming to save me or anything on the way,” He frowned, looking up the road. “Though maybe if he had, those babies would have still been out there looking for me.” 

It was the only thing he could tell himself these days that lessened the ache under his ribs. 

He walked into camp only to be greeted by a streak of copper curls and dirty hands. Adda was wrapped around his knees, giving an impressive war cry. “Take down the intooder” She growled, her small hands batting at his thigh. Jaskier had to bite the inside of his cheek hard not to laugh. He learned that meeting Adda’s fierceness with humor got him angry tears and pouting. She was a warrior, even if a very small one. 

Jaskier scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as she squealed with laughter, wriggling to be free. 

“Oh no, you don’t. I would be foolish to put someone as ferocious as you back down!” he gave her ankle a squeeze as he made his way to the bedrolls and flopped her down gently. “Hellions, the lot of you.” He beamed. 

He unloaded the supplies, repacked the wagon, and made his way around the perimeter of the camp, gathering up wood for the night. The kids played and helped here and there, only to be distracted a few moments later by a bush of berries they had found, then it was off to wash their hands and faces in the little creek they had set up along. 

He couldn’t stop himself from picturing a country house somewhere warm for all of them where they would be safe, but he had heard enough in Mirt to know that the war seemed to only be starting to really kick up. That just wasn’t an option for them right now and it broke his heart. His kids deserved to have the time and space to be kids, not refugees in a war.

That night around the fire, Jaskier pulled out his lute and taught them “The Path to Kaer Morhen”. By the fourth round, the kids could all recite it by heart and he’s thrilled that even Pyotr who usually sits off a bit from the others is sitting closer, listening, and singing along intently. He looks sideways at him, trying to not be too obvious as he watches the boy string his bow, his fingers tracing over the inlay with adoration. 

Morning came, Jaskier loaded the wagon, dowsed the flames, and climbed up into the driver’s seat, looking back over his shoulder. Somewhere in his memory, Geralt was coming from the tree line, just there, and making that face where he was trying to think of something. 

Suddenly, his chest ached. This clearing, that stream, the way the road had curved and led perfectly into the little out cove among the trees. It was the same place.

_ “Come spend the winter in Kaer Morhen.” Geralt said flatly. He wasn’t looking at Jaskier, but finishing up with the straps of Roach’s saddle. “It doesn’t make sense you trekking your way all the way to Oxenfurt from here this late in the season.”  _

_ Jaskier looked behind him then looked back to Geralt, blinking hard. “Me?”  _

_ Geralt made one of his “hmm”s that said ‘Obviously’. Jaskier was grinning.  _

_ “Well?”  _

“Well?” Pyotr was tugging at the back of his doublet, his tone irritable as though it hadn’t been his first attempt at getting Jaskier’s attention. 

“Yes,” Jaskier took a deep breath, pulling the reins up to him. “Off to Kaer Morhen.” 

  
  


-o-O-o-

They had been on the roads for what felt an age. Finally, Geralt had his child surprise beside him, and the most he could manage was just evade Nilfgaard’s scouts. He would have to get her to Kaer Morhen before too long if either of them were going to survive, but it meant taking a very long and very scenic way. 

For the most part, Ciri was quiet, she never complained, and she seemed less interested in what happened next so long as they were together. Part of Geralt wished she was more child-like, simply for the idea that the lack of the childishness spoke volumes more than her words did to the horrors and trials she had already faced. 

They had been making their way towards Rinde when Geralt had overheard that the armies of Nilfgaard had begun marching towards the coast, towards Oxenfurt. 

“Fuck.” 

After everything, and the time they had spent apart, Geralt wasn’t sure if he would have been a welcome sight in Oxenfurt, but there was no way he was just going to turn his back when there was a chance Jaskier would be caught up in all of this. As they changed course, making their way across the land quickly towards the sea, he wondered what he would say. 

_ “Come spend the winter in Kaer Morhen with me.” he had meant for it to be a request. It came out as a demand and he could taste his own nerves as Jaskier stared at him as if he had been hit. But then Jaskier did that thing where his whole face lit up and- _

Roach and Ciri were both ready to mutiny by the time they reached the hills above Oxenfurt. However, as they stood there, looking down into the once picturesque beauty that had been one of the greatest places of collective knowledge on the entire continent, they collectively held their breath. 

Everything was in flames. The clock tower, the streets, the halls of the famed University. Everything. Geralt’s heart was in his throat as he looked down and watched the brightly painted buildings turn to ash. 

Ciri buried her face between his shoulder blades, shaking, and he knew. It had not been the sight of Oxenfurt falling, but the sounds. Screaming and cries and the crash of timbers and the vast yawning rush of flames. This is how it had looked when Cintra had fallen, and once more, Geralt had found himself useless to stop it. 

He didn’t have to ride down into the streets to know that there would have been no survivors if they hadn’t fled the city weeks ago. He also knew that Jaskier had no reason to leave or believe that Oxenfurt would be in danger of falling to Nilfgaard. It was nearly midsummer and he knew that any other year, Jaskier would have already been with him, where he would have been safe. 

_ “If life could give me one blessing.” Fuck. _

Geralt turned Roach around and she did not need much prompting as they hurried away, off to Kaer Morhen.


	3. In the Keep of Witchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little scraped up, Jaskier and his ducks make it to Kaer Morhen where they quickly fall into the daily life of getting by. Jaskier keeps himself busy and welcomes homes the Witchers. Well... Most of them. 
> 
> Also, Vesemir is Soft. Fight me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by artistsfuneral on tumblr's idea:
> 
> "He may have provoked the law of surprise a few times and some look like they could be his own. They differ in age. The oldest is 15 and demands that they are already an adult. The youngest is just a babe that Jaskier cradles in his arms. They all have met over the last two weeks, because destiny is a bitch and decided to hand them all over to Jaskier in one go.
> 
> Now he is a bard surrounded by a dozen kids. It's summer, it's hot, they're in Kaedwen. Near the Blue Mountains... and Jaskier may or may not had composed a rhyme to remember the save way to Kaer Morhen, the first time Geralt took him. Something along the lines “along the riverbed, take the third step, or lose your head“ etc.
> 
> So Jaskier... and his twelve children, start to climb up the mountain. Many scraped knees and a twisted ankle later and somehow they made it to the keep. It's in the middle of summer, so not even Vesemir is there. So no one can tell them to go away... and they settle down in the old keep.
> 
> Vesemir makes his way up the mountain three weeks later and arrives to the sound of a lute and children laughing."
> 
> So I took the idea and just ran with it.

It had taken nearly three weeks, even with the wagon to get through the pass to Kaer Morhen. There had been scraped knees and hands, Dannet had twisted his ankle climbing out of the river one afternoon, which Jaskier wrapped gently, telling him a story about the time he was with his… the Witcher Geralt and had sprained his wrist. Jaskier left out the embarrassing part of how he had done it climbing into a tree for apples, but it was a story that kept the boy still long enough for him to set the brace. 

As he worked, he kept looking up at the boy and thinking back to the way he and his brothers had looked at that age. Part of him had wanted to ask about his mother, who she might have been and if Dannet might have known who his father was. He looked around him and realized that maybe, in the situation they all found themselves in, it didn’t matter. Dannet was his just as the twins and Warner and Emme and Adda were his. Call it fate, call it destiny, call it a lost evening of too much wine and chasing regrets; they were his children, regardless. 

“You’ll have to take it easy, my duck, just for a couple of days.” Jaskier smiled and lifted Dannet back into the wagon, arranging him to keep his leg elevated onto one of the sacks of root vegetables. There are an anxious few hours where Jaskier is pretty certain that the second they stop again, Dannet would try to run off along with the others. 

He was pleasantly surprised when they unpacked and set up their sleep rolls for the night, Dannet let himself be helped around and didn’t even attempt to make a mad dash for it when a game of chase was called. 

“Emme told me what happened to horses when they sprained their legs.” He looked a little forlornly out at the other children and Jaskier tried not to laugh, Dannet was so serious about it. 

“Well, usually, we don’t turn people into glue, let alone, little boys.” He looked out to where the others were chasing each other between the trunks of the old oaks. “Promise you’ll be back in tip-top shape before we reach the keep.” 

“Is it scary?” Big soft blue eyes found him in the semi-dark and Jaskier’s heart cracked a little. 

“Not even in the slightest, duck.” And it was true. He had never been afraid of Kaer Morhen or its Witchers. The only thing he feared had been losing him- them. “There is Eskel who likes to keep goats, and Vesemir who tells wonderful stories and Lambert who thinks his pranks are very funny.” He playfully poked Dannet’s cheek and was rewarded with a giggle. He was starting to live for the smiles of his children. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if Geralt would experience the same thing with his own Child Surprise. The sweet-bitter thought sat heavily in his throat. 

“And Geralt? Will the White Wolf be there?” Dannet’s eyes were somehow bigger, full of wonder. “Do you think he’ll like us?” 

_ From the mouth of babes… _ Jaskier swallowed hard and forced a smile. “I’m sure he would do everything he could to protect all of you.” He left himself out of that equation because the arithmetic of anything else left him dizzy. 

-o-O-o-

Jaskier had been right on three counts. The first being that Dannet was up on both his feet again within a couple of days though he kept an eye out as sometimes the boy would stop and flex his ankle, testing it’s renewed dependability. 

After the ankle, the worst injury in the whole wagon had been Jaskier being on the business end of a bee while trying to gather up some late-season berries. Lilion took leaves from her skirt pocket, chewed them, then spread the mess over the swelling of his knuckle. At first, Jaskier was extremely grossed out only to find himself groaning in relief. 

“Lilion, my wonderful girl, thank you. Yuck. But thank you!” He leaned his head back and let the wad of green work its magic. Who needed a Witcher when you had a bunch of kids who, between them, might know nearly every useful bit of peasant ingenuity on the continent.

His second bit of correct foresight had come when their wagon passed the final stretch of the path that led them to Kaer Morhen, putting them inside the gates nearly to the day he had estimated. And that was where his third count had come as well. 

Kaer Morhen, for the exception of some goats grazing along its walls, had been empty for the season. He found a hall a bit away from where he knew the Witchers stayed and he set to work cleaning out the years of dust and cobwebs and stored weapons. He found old slate boards and a box of crumbling chalk and thought that once they were settled and things were worked out with the Witchers, Jaskier would start to teach the kids reading and writing. 

Summer crept by in a blur of hastily cobbled routine. He would wake, the children would eat, he would tell them where they could play that day because he wanted to work on either carving out a liveable space for them or in the kitchens, making goat cheese and curing meats to start building up the stores for the winter. He refused to let the Witchers be caught off guard and unprepared to house an extra fifteen people for the winter season. Jaskier would ask that, if he and his brood were welcome to stay, that someone bring back chickens and herbs for him to tend to. There was a perfectly sized pen towards the north wall that would fit a coop and gardening plot without being in the way. 

He was working on the wash, pinning up clothes to dry, the younger children running about between airing sheets as he sang when he heard a high whistle. The warning call he had taught Pyotr for when they were out hunting together, should they be separated. 

Jaskier hastily wiped his hands on his shirt and made his way towards the gate, telling the children to get inside and wait for him, trying to remain calm for them as his own heart pounded against his throat. 

“Bard?” 

“Ah… Vesemir, I was beginning to wonder when I would see you.” Jaskier smiled up at the man on his black horse. “I think we should have a chat, hmm?” 

Vesemir arched an eyebrow and looked back behind Jaskier towards the door which was cracked open to the hall of Kaer Morhen, frowning. “The war?” his voice was low. He could see at least six pairs of eyes peering back at him. 

“I didn’t know where else to go, I am so sorry. Just this winter, I promise, then I can-” Jaskier took the reins that were handed to him as Vesemir dismounted. 

“It’s alright, Jaskier. The world is falling to pieces and monsters now where the faces of men.” He looked around, noticing a fairly clean courtyard and the laundry hanging in the sun, counting silently the bedsheets. “How many?” 

“Don’t be mad.” Jaskier grimaced. Vesemir turned to him, his eyebrow sliding further up towards his hairline. “Fourteen.” 

They stood there for a moment, Vesemir in stunned silence, his face contorting for a second. And then he laughed, a deep-chested wholehearted laugh. “You were always an extremely personable fellow, Jaskier. I hadn’t realized just how much!” 

Jaskier snorted indignantly. “Not all of them are from me. Some fate put in my path, others tagalongs, but every one of them is mine now, and that’s all that matters.”

Vesemir hummed, taking his pack down and slinging it over his shoulder. “You know, bard. We didn’t think we’d be seeing you again.” There wasn’t an accusation or question in his words. But there was a softness that was unexpected. 

“Well, I guess Geralt just got tired of me messing things up for him.” Jaskier found his own voice choked and pitched low. Vesemir only hummed again, his frown returning. It wasn’t always easy to tell what the Witchers meant by their hums, but this one sounded doubtful. 

Over the next few days, Jaskier laid out his plans and showed Vesemir the provisions he had already made for the children. 

“It was never my plan to eat you all out of house and keep, Vesemir. My Pyotr has been learning to hunt. The boy is skilled, quiet in the wood, and light on his feet. You’ll like him. The twins can fish and some of my ducks are even more resourceful than us, finding roots and the like to feed themselves for days. There are some things they’ve even taught me.” He couldn’t help but puff up his chest with pride. “We won’t ask for supplies that we can’t get for ourselves, and we’ve collected well enough to share.” 

Vesemir looked around the newly stocked pantry. “You don’t need to be so defensive, bard. There is no one here who is going to turn you out, for any reason. And I can see you’ve kept your little foundlings the best you could. There’s honor in that, Jaskier.” 

A knot that had been wrapped around his heart finally loosened at those words and Jaskier let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Vesemir wouldn’t send them away. The Witchers, at least one of them, would allow his family to stay there safely tucked away. 

Vesemir took over the hunting, taking Pyotr out and teaching him to set snares. He followed the twins to the river and watched them fish, sitting with them and showing them how to weave nets from the reeds. 

But it was Adda that had him completely wrapped around her tiny fists. She would lurk in halls and behind shelves and leap out at him with the ferocious battle cry of a five-year-old. He would startle every time and compliment her sneaking. 

Jaskier had heard only a little of the trials the young boys had gone through to become Witchers and always held Vesemir slightly responsible for but watching him be gentle with his ducks realized that maybe the old man never truly had a choice in the matter. People always did regrettable things for their own survival. 

The weather started to grow cooler, the days shorter and the woods turned from soft deep green to sharp vibrant reds and yellows. The wolves came home, first Lambert, laughing uproariously at finding Vesemir surrounded by half a dozen kids, reading to them from an old Witcher journal, and Jaskier mending a sock. 

“Since when did a bard learn the secrets of domesticating a Witcher?” Lambert guffawed. 

“Big words for someone who lets a cat keep him like a pup.” Jaskier shot back without even looking up.

Lambert sputtered for a moment before laughing again. “Good to see you again, Jask.” 

Eskel was only a few days behind Lambert, coming into the courtyard to find his goats well seen to in his absence and a young boy looking very much like a bard he knew once chasing after one that had wandered a bit too far from the pen. 

“Jaskier?” 

“Welcome back, Eskel. Stew’s on in a bit, go around and get acquainted.” His smile was light but his eyes looked weary. 

_ Three down, one to go.  _ Jaskier thought. He kept his days filled the best he could to distract him from his growing worry. But even distraction could only do so much to keep reality at bay. 


	4. In the Wood Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Ciri run for their lives on their way home to Kaer Morhen and Jaskier hears the last rumor of Geralt of Rivia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOME UPFRONT HOUSEKEEPING: Things are about to get a bit dark for our guys. Also, BLOOD WARNING AND IMMEDIATE DANGER WARNING!!! They are brief, but they are there. I'll fix my tags when I figure out how to. If anyone has any other suggestions for tags that pertain to this or any other chapter, please reach out to me. You can find me @wherethewordsare on tumblr. Also, reach out to me anyways! Say hi! let's be friends! ... Maybe not right after this chapter. Yall are gonna be mad.... My b. I love you!
> 
> This was inspired by artistsfuneral on tumblr's idea:
> 
> "He may have provoked the law of surprise a few times and some look like they could be his own. They differ in age. The oldest is 15 and demands that they are already an adult. The youngest is just a babe that Jaskier cradles in his arms. They all have met over the last two weeks, because destiny is a bitch and decided to hand them all over to Jaskier in one go.
> 
> Now he is a bard surrounded by a dozen kids. It's summer, it's hot, they're in Kaedwen. Near the Blue Mountains... and Jaskier may or may not had composed a rhyme to remember the save way to Kaer Morhen, the first time Geralt took him. Something along the lines “along the riverbed, take the third step, or lose your head“ etc.
> 
> So Jaskier... and his twelve children, start to climb up the mountain. Many scraped knees and a twisted ankle later and somehow they made it to the keep. It's in the middle of summer, so not even Vesemir is there. So no one can tell them to go away... and they settle down in the old keep.
> 
> Vesemir makes his way up the mountain three weeks later and arrives to the sound of a lute and children laughing."
> 
> So I took the idea and just ran with it.

They rode in silence for a few days, Ciri lost in her horrors, Geralt in his grief. He was getting used to waking up to find her huddled against him and it was easy for him to sling an arm around her small frame to make her feel safe. It made him feel at least a little bit useful. 

One morning, while walking through a wood in the hills above Oxenfurt, Ciri looked up from her breakfast. “Jaskier was that bard that traveled with you, right?” 

Her voice startled him, or maybe her words. Geralt swallowed and looked away. “Jaskier was…” What? What did he say? Jaskier was so much and Geralt pushed him away because he thought it just easier to be alone. “He was my friend.” He said flatly. 

She was frowning. “I’m sorry.” There was something else she wouldn’t say and honestly, the sooner he could get away from this conversation, the better. 

They broke camp, packing in their bedrolls and banking the remaining embers of their fire. He was just hoisting Ciri up onto Roach when he heard it, the telltale sound of tension on a bowstring. 

Geralt had his sword drawn and up, knocking aside the arrow as it came sailing towards his chest. He cursed himself silently as another arrow came from his left which he just managed to deflect. If he hadn’t been so lost in his own grief the scouts would not have been able to sneak up onto them like this. 

His saving grace was that they were young and slow to draw. He found stones being pressed into the hand he kept on Roach’s reins, turning to see Ciri laying flush in the saddle, fear, and determination molding her features into something fierce. He let one stone fly, hearing it catch the bowman in the face. The other stone found its mark as well and he heard the clatter of a quiver on the forest floor. They had made the mistake of not spreading out further and Geralt descended on them in a flash, his sword making quick work through their light armor, but not fast enough to stop the one from sending up a call before bleeding out into the moss. 

Geralt dashed over to Roach, swinging up behind Ciri and checking her over before spurring Roach on. From the corner of his eye, he saw the wall of flames start to slither it’s way up the hill. Looking over, he realized it flanked them. 

“Fuck.” He urged Roach on harder, his arm wrapping around Ciri to support her. “Hold on, cub.” He leaned into the gallop, racing the fire to where two walls of rock jutted up into a path. He was too late, the fire circled around and trapped them, slowly, purposely moving towards them. 

Geralt drew his sword and held tightly to Ciri, determined to fight off anything and anyone. 

“Witcher?” He spun Roach around, sword held, ready to strike when he stopped. There stood a mage he was not familiar with but recognized from Aretuza.

“Mage?” 

The mage smiled up at him. “I heard… doesn’t matter. Let’s get you out of here.”

“Yes please.”

-o-O-o-

Where the days had seemed like they were flying by, suddenly they were crawling. Jaskier looked up from the goat’s milk he was setting up for cheese over a low fire and realized that most of the trees surrounding the keep were nearly bare. 

That night around the fire, after the little ones had all been put to bed, he had pointed this out to the Witchers. “You would think Geralt would have rolled in by now.” he frowned, looking up at Eskel who had been leaning against the fireplace, turning over the embers. 

He froze, looking over his shoulder to Lambert who was looking between him and Jaskier. The dread that had been building silently for some untold amount of time in Jaskier’s chest quickly bubbled up as he looked between Eskel and Lambert, his hand suddenly white knuckle tight on his goblet. 

“What?” Jaskier asked.

“Come with me, bard.” Eskel tilted his head, leading out of the great room and toward the hall that led to Jaskier’s room. They walked a bit down before Eskel gently took his elbow and pulled him to a stop. 

“Jaskier…” Eskel looked down the hall towards where the children were sleeping and sighed. “We thought you knew.” his brows knitted together and he looked Jaskier in the eye. 

“I… knew? Knew what?” Jaskier took a step back as if Eskel was about to strike him, and part of him wished he do that rather than-

“I heard it passing through Crinfrid. There were rumors that the White Wolf and his Child Surprise were seen outside of Oxenfurt right as it had fallen to Nilfgaard.” 

“Oxen- Why on earth would Geralt be anywhere near Oxenfurt? He had the princess to get to safety.” The panic was clawing up through his chest and threatening to strangle him. Geralt. In Oxenfurt. But the only thing in Oxenfurt that Geralt would even remotely consider going after was-

“After they were spotted, it’s said that Nilfgaard scouts followed them up into the hills… Where they lit the forest there on fire. It was leveled to the ground… and they were not seen leaving.” 

This hall didn’t have enough air in it. The panic was flying through his veins now, his heart hammering, threatening to shatter. “Eskel…”

“Jaskier, I’m so sorry. Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf of Kaer Morhen, has met his end on the Path.” 

Jaskier felt his knees hit sharply onto the cobble of the halls, while something wild and angry and injured howled somewhere from within the keep. Remotely, Jaskier thought that it was possibly him making that sound. Everything around him grew fuzzy as his heart finally cracked, the shrapnel of it cutting off his breathing. 

Geralt was not coming home. Geralt was dead. He had died going after Jaskier who was not there. Because Jaskier had been here, where Geralt should have been. Where he would never be again. 


	5. The Unwed Widow of Kaer Morhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by artistsfuneral on tumblr's idea:
> 
> "He may have provoked the law of surprise a few times and some look like they could be his own. They differ in age. The oldest is 15 and demands that they are already an adult. The youngest is just a babe that Jaskier cradles in his arms. They all have met over the last two weeks, because destiny is a bitch and decided to hand them all over to Jaskier in one go.
> 
> Now he is a bard surrounded by a dozen kids. It's summer, it's hot, they're in Kaedwen. Near the Blue Mountains... and Jaskier may or may not had composed a rhyme to remember the save way to Kaer Morhen, the first time Geralt took him. Something along the lines “along the riverbed, take the third step, or lose your head“ etc.
> 
> So Jaskier... and his twelve children, start to climb up the mountain. Many scraped knees and a twisted ankle later and somehow they made it to the keep. It's in the middle of summer, so not even Vesemir is there. So no one can tell them to go away... and they settle down in the old keep.
> 
> Vesemir makes his way up the mountain three weeks later and arrives to the sound of a lute and children laughing."
> 
> So I took the idea and just ran with it.

They had portaled just north of where the Buina hooked towards Vattweir. It set them back by a few weeks, but they were alive. The mage, Agatha, stayed with them for a few days, delighting Ciri by answering nearly every question she had about magic. Geralt was grateful for the distraction as he still struggled with the fall of Oxenfurt. 

_ Jaskier. _ He found it hard to sleep most nights without waking up to the echoes of “ _ See you around, Geralt. _ ” roaring in his ear over and over. 

“Would it help if you told me about him?” Ciri asked one night. The mage had left them behind the week before and Ciri let herself chatter a little more than before about the things she had learned. 

The mage was careful not to teach her any actual magic, leaving that to Yennefer, whenever she decided to show back up again, but she still had given Ciri a better understanding. He knew Yen would be furious. 

“I’m not good at talking about others.” Geralt answered honestly. He didn’t know where to start.

“I asked Agatha about magic when she wasn’t sure where to start. Would that help?” Ciri rolled over in her blankets, her silver-blonde hair turning orangey in the firelight. 

“Hmm. I’ll try.” Anyone else and he would have sent them flying into the nearest ravine. Ciri, and somehow, it didn’t feel nearly as intrusive.

“Where did you meet him?” 

“Posada.” Geralt found himself smiling slightly. “Couldn’t have missed him if I tried, and trust me, I tried. He wanted a review of his singing.”

“How was his singing?” She rested her chin on her crossed arms and he tilted his head back to look at her. 

In another life, he remembered a mop of brown hair, a chin resting on crossed arms, and a pout that he found himself wanting to press his lips to. It had been annoying. He’d trade nearly anything to get it back again. 

“You heard him sing once, actually, at one of your birthday celebrations, but I doubt you’d remember him. Shame. He had a lovely voice.” Geralt rolled over himself, mirroring Ciri’s position, resting his chin on crossed arms, facing her. 

They spent most of the night like that, going back and forth, Ciri asking questions, Geralt trying to give as honest answers as he could bear. Sometimes he would have to go quiet for a long stretch of time and she would wait. He had to admit it was nice. There was less of a weight in his chest by time Ciri had drifted off to sleep, humming lightly a tune of Jaskier’s that Geralt had remembered. It was the first time in years he could remember there being music in his camp again. 

Too late had he realized he missed it. But he slept better for having heard it again.

-o-O-o-

The first few days, the Witchers picked up what Jaskier couldn’t manage to keep up with, feeding and watching after the children, Vesemir had taken over reading lessons and Eskel continued to help Emme and Lilion update the herbs book that was kept in the kitchen, while Lambert kept the younger ones on their toes with games and tricks and a stash of sweets that no one could locate.

Jaskier, for all the work that he knew needed to be done, could not bring himself to leave the bed. There had been one night right after Eskel had tried his best to break it to him gently, where Jaskier found himself wandering the halls, aimlessly and wrapped in a blanket. His feet led him without notice to a shut door. Jaskier knew before he even pushed it open what he would find on the other side. 

He let himself in quietly and slipped into the worn comforter. The sheets were musty and the pillow worn. He found that his body shifted down into a place where Geralt must have found himself the most comfortable. There were no more tears that evening, but they came with the morning. They were silent and bitter and tasted of a room that would remain empty after Jaskier managed to excavate himself from it again. That alone took nearly a week, and it had been Dannet that had finally weaseled him out. 

“Jaskier?” The boy’s face was wary and his own brown fringe had been growing rapidly. 

“Why, hello my duck. What brings you here?” Jaskier’s voice was husky with a mixture of a lack of use and too much crying. 

“We’ve been worried. No one’s seen you.” Dannet, not thinking twice, crawled up next to Jaskeir and nestled down beside him. He scrunched his nose and shifted. “These sheets smell funny.” 

Jaskier gave a watery laugh, his arm easily wrapping around the boy as his other hand came up to tousle his hair affectionately. “They do, don’t they? Think it’s time for me to get up?” He pulled the covers up to his nose and made a groaning noise, causing Dannet to laugh. 

“Yes, please.” That surprised Jaskier.

“When did you learn manners!?” He sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. 

He followed Dannet out of the room, leaving the sheets rumpled and desperately trying not to think about how there would be no one coming back to straighten them again. 

-o-O-o-

It took being around the children again to get Jaskier moving. He took it a little bit at a time but being around his family made the crushing ache in his chest a little less. 

He watched as Pyotr showed off his new snare skills and Emme and Gunther updated him about the goats. The twins were busy with reclaiming the back corner of the courtyard so that come Spring, Jaskier could plant herbs. Life went on and Jaskier had to go with it. 

On the fourth night, he and the Witchers sat around the fire and he wasn’t sure why, but he started to sing. Soft and low and wistful. It had been he hadn’t sung to anyone, except for once on a particularly rough hunt when Geralt was too far gone to listen. 

_ “Wait, wait my darling. _

_ Don’t run so far from here _

_ I have stories to tell you _

_ But they’re too short I fear. _

> _ Wait wait, my dear heart _
> 
> _ You haven’t begun to know _
> 
> _ That my heart belongs to you _
> 
> _ Through sun and through snow _
> 
> _ Bring back the mornings _
> 
> _ When it was quite understood _
> 
> _ That I may go wandering _
> 
> _ But I’m yours for good” _

  
  


He hadn’t realized the room had gone completely still until he looked up from his cup. There must have been some remnant of that choking feeling on his face because it was Lambert who reached over, setting a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“He was a fucking idiot for the things that he did, and I don’t know if it helps, but in a lot of ways he wasn’t anyone’s, he was yours,” Eskel said. 

“Elsewhere on the continent, you would be considered a widow, nearly. Spent the last twenty years with him, Jaskier.” Lambert huffed. He cursed when Vesemir cuffed him over the back of the head. 

“Hm, the Widow of Kaer Morhen, has quite the ring to it actually,” Jaskier said wistfully as he tilted his head. “One last ballad for the White Wolf and his unwed Widow.” He hadn’t intended for it to sound so bitter but when he looked back at the Witchers, he could see the pity in their faces. 

And that is when it hit him. He slumped back, his chest tight and his stomach uneasy. “I have been a right prick, haven’t I?” He winced and shifted in his seat. “Here I am mourning a man who was not mine to mourn, falling to pieces, meanwhile, you all have lost your brother, your son, one in a shrinking family, and in that time you have held mine together.” Jaskier took a deep breath, pressing a hand over his eyes. “I will never stop owing the Witchers of Kaer Morhen, as long as I might live.” 

“We spent much longer than humans learning to lose, Bard. Besides, we take care of our own family. That’s you and those pups now too.” Vesemir grumbled, but there was a warmth to it. 

They drank in silence for a while after that. The room was warm and the wine was good and though it was missing parts and crumbling pieces in the periphery, Jaskier felt perfectly at home. 

-o-O-o-

There had been something… off. Geralt’s senses were either lying to him, or he was going insane. As Roach made her way to the gate of Kaer Morhen, he heard… children? That couldn’t be right. His arm wrapped instinctively around Ciri. 

“Do you hear…” She was leaning forward, looking around, starting to squirm as she wanted down to go and see.

“That sounds like a…” Geralt’s heart hammered in his chest and his head whipped around. 

There was a high whistle, an obvious warning call, and one he was familiar with. The lute stopped abruptly and two faces peered around the stone of the gate, young and human and confused. Above them, Lambert appeared.

“Fuck.” Lambert said sharply. “Boys, get inside.” 

“Lambert?” Geralt was still holding onto Ciri. “What the-” 

“You’re alive,” Lambert said flatly, looking him up and down. There was a note of something Geralt wasn’t familiar within his voice. Behind him, he could see Eskel ushering in other children into the keep, Vesemir already in the door, having a heated conversation with someone.

“Lambert… What the fuck is going on?” He swung down from Roach, his shoulders rolling. He reached up and helped down Ciri without taking his eyes off of the scene behind his brother. 

Ciri looked between them, obviously excited. “I didn’t know there were other children here.” 

She was saying something else, but Geralt could not hear her. Everything else around him fell away as his entire attention hyper-focused down onto one thing. 

Jaskier. Jaskier alive, walking across the courtyard of Kaer Morhen. Jaskier. Something heavy in his chest fell out and he thought he might float away. 

“Geralt, wait-” Lambert was trying to stop him as he started walking instinctively towards Jaskier. 

Jaskier saw him, his pace picking up, there was determination in his face. 

They were a stride and a half away now and Geralt opened his arms. “Jaskier… you’re alive.”

“Son of a bitch!” He didn’t see the fist fly from beside Jaskier, landing square between his eyes and crushing his nose. He was dazed and bloody and his eyes struggled to focus but when they did, he looked up to see Jaskier storming away again, holding his fist. 

Lambert walked up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome home, brother. We should talk.” 


	6. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt struggles with trying to find the right way to talk to Jaskier by which I mean everyone tells him to talk to the bard and he keeps finding reasons not to. 
> 
> Listen... no one ever accused Geralt of gaining the one brain cell in all of Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by artistsfuneral on tumblr's idea:
> 
> "He may have provoked the law of surprise a few times and some look like they could be his own. They differ in age. The oldest is 15 and demands that they are already an adult. The youngest is just a babe that Jaskier cradles in his arms. They all have met over the last two weeks, because destiny is a bitch and decided to hand them all over to Jaskier in one go.
> 
> Now he is a bard surrounded by a dozen kids. It's summer, it's hot, they're in Kaedwen. Near the Blue Mountains... and Jaskier may or may not had composed a rhyme to remember the save way to Kaer Morhen, the first time Geralt took him. Something along the lines “along the riverbed, take the third step, or lose your head“ etc.
> 
> So Jaskier... and his twelve children, start to climb up the mountain. Many scraped knees and a twisted ankle later and somehow they made it to the keep. It's in the middle of summer, so not even Vesemir is there. So no one can tell them to go away... and they settle down in the old keep.
> 
> Vesemir makes his way up the mountain three weeks later and arrives to the sound of a lute and children laughing."
> 
> So I took the idea and just ran with it.

Geralt blinked, shaking his head to clear the pain as he started walking after Jaskier. He was halfway across the course when suddenly Eskel was in front of him, a hand on his chest. 

“Geralt, wait.” He blocked Geralt’s view, forcing him to look up. “Lambert’s right. We should talk before…” Eskel threw a look over his shoulder that Geralt couldn’t read but it felt similar to the one Lambert had had when he saw Geralt at the gate. Somewhere between protective and guilty. 

He took a step back, looking between his brothers and the entrance where Jaskier had disappeared. Looking away, he grunted a soft curse and wiped the blood away from his face. They were protecting Jaskier. They were protecting Jaskier from him. 

Ciri was at his side, tugging on his sleeve, her delegate features pinched in. “Geralt was that…? Wasn’t that your bard?” 

He caught the way Eskel looked between him and Ciri, frowning. Small faces were starting to peer around the corners and through the windows. He counted almost a dozen. He was missing something very big and very important. Nothing that had happened in the last five minutes made any sense, least of all…

“What the hell is going on?” he had meant for it to be a growl but the distress was painfully obvious to his own ears. 

-o-O-o-

After a brief introduction of Ciri to the other Witchers, Geralt barely said the words “Go-” before she was already running off after a pair of young girls who had been heading towards the goat pens. 

He watched after her, apprehension scooping out his stomach. It dawned on him that they hadn’t been separated for any amount of time since finding each other. Was this what parenthood felt like? This was terrible. 

Eskel sat him down, looking at his boots for a moment while he collected himself. 

“We thought you were dead,” Lambert said without hesitation. 

Eskel glared at him hard before turning to Geralt. “What our brother means to say is, we’re glad you’re alive and safe and that Ciri is with you.” he gave a short briefing to the last month or so at Kaer Morhen, of Vesemir showing up to a keep full of kids and a bard anxiously expecting to be ejected. 

“Why so many?” Geralt was trying to remember all the faces he had seen. At least ten. “Where would Jaskier get so many children, and why!?” 

Eskel gave a wry smile. “That’s his story to tell, and you know how that bard likes to tell stories.” There was a fondness for Jaskier that took Geralt by surprise. Almost. He knew that Jaskier could charm just about anyone, including a Witcher. Maybe especially a Witcher. 

“When I was passing through Crinfrid when I heard you and your Child Surprise got caught in a wood and burned to death. Geralt… Jaskier mourned you. I think he might have mourned you in ways that we just couldn’t see. We all mourned you, brother, but I think something in the bard broke in ways that were not going to be easily fixed.” 

“Fuck.” Geralt dropped his head into his hands. “I thought he was dead, and here he was...” He could have almost laughed had the guilt not been burning away in the pit of his stomach. “And I put Ciri in danger going after him. And he was here.” 

“And if you get your head out of your ass, he still will be.” Vesemir finally added. “I won’t have you chasing out those children because you decided to be hard-headed, boy.” 

Geralt scowled, looking up at those he had called family for decades. “Hmm.” He knew the justification for finding himself on the wrong end of this particular shovel speech but it didn’t settle the knot of apprehension in his stomach. 

It wasn’t new, Jaskier and Geralt fighting, what was new was Jaskier’s fierceness being directed at Geralt. That was reserved for those who had made snide comments about Witchers or shorted them on a contract when people did wrong by Geralt. 

_ ‘He mourned you.’  _ Fuck. Geralt could see it. From where Jaskier was standing, he had lost Geralt twice, and both times because Geralt acted before thinking. Of course, Jaskier would come here, a brood of children or no. He had to do something, he had to say… anything to stop Jaskier from ever making that face of absolute rage at him again. 

-o-O-o-

He tried. He did. He would find Jaskier with a few of his incidental children in some tucked-away corner of the keep. He wasn’t trying to find him… usually and for the most part, he would try to give Jaskier his space. But there were only so many places Geralt could go to avoid seeing that hurt look that only served to twist the knife a bit deeper. 

What he was not expecting was to grow soft on the kids themselves. He had heard Jaskier call them his ducks and he had to fight down the fond smile every time he heard it. He would watch as Ciri folded into their ranks seamlessly. 

Well, almost. The oldest of the lot, that Pyotr and Ciri tended to butt heads, and usually he would hear his name being thrown around in a low untrusting tone. He didn’t blame the boy, in fact, it only made him more fond of him. Anyone that loyal to Jaskier deserved better things in this life. 

Ciri’s own ire at him was surprisingly unsurprising. Whatever Jaskier’s reservations about talking to Geralt again were, they did not extend to Ciri and she was welcomed easily into the lessons he taught, their afternoons where he would tell stories, and even along with the two older girls to see to the little greenhouse that had been reclaimed during the late summer. Geralt was grateful for that at least. But it meant dealing with one extremely ruffled young girl on his hands. 

“Geralt! What did you even do? Every time I try to bring you up, he looks like I’ve kicked him! He won’t tell me anything. Adults are always not saying the things that they just need to say and that’s how you keep finding yourselves in these messes!” 

He scowled, his eyebrows knitting together. “Hmm,” looking at Ciri with a mixture of shock and frustration. 

“No. No, you don’t, Geralt of Rivia. You stop dodging him and go actually talk to him. With words. Or we’ll never find peace here.” She stormed out, a clear sign of her royal upbringing as she dismissed him without a single word, turning on her heel and marching off to her next decree. 

_ FUCK. _

But what really stung was not Jaskier walking about Kaer Morhen, or the annoyed look Ciri would give him when she caught him watching from afar. It was one of the children themselves. A young boy, eight or nine by Geralt’s estimation, and the very spitting image of Jaskier. The boy wasn’t afraid of the Witchers, and even with the tension around the keep with everyone else and Geralt, he seemed to have taken a shining. Dannet would follow Geralt around, asking a thousand questions and beaming like the sun every time Geralt finally broke down and gave him an answer. He found that sometimes he would just give an answer just to see the boy smile. It was the same smile that he had seen hundreds of times on the path. 

Something about the likeness was completely wrong to Geralt though and it wasn’t until a couple of days in, when Jaskier passed him in a hall, his head ducked, with his lute in hand. 

“The boy needs an instrument.” He said abruptly to Eskel that evening, having shown up at his door without any other kind of warning. 

“What? Geralt, do you know how-” Eskel was rubbing at his eye, squinting at Geralt in the low light of the candle he carried.

“Dannet. The boy, Dannet. I was wondering if you still had that lab thing… The one that family paid you in when they had no coin?”

Eskel only shook his head. “Have you spoken to Jaskier yet, Geralt?” 

Geralt looked away and Eskel only sighed, turning and opening a wardrobe near the door. “Talk to your bard, Geralt. I’m almost halfway certain he won’t hit you again. At least not with that hand.” 

He shifted uncomfortably, taking the instrument from Eskel. He had seen Jaskier’s hand and it had been an ugly swollen mess, wrapped in bandages. He would see the girl, Lilion, pressing chewed up white willow to it every now and again, having heard Jaskier ask for it by calling it “the yuck”. He wondered if Jaskier called it that cause it made the girl roll her eyes at him fondly or because he was truly unaware of what it was. He would bet his last gold piece it was the first one. 

-o-O-o- 

The next morning brought a flurry of activity as Jaskier came in, his Dannet in tow. Geralt was careful to look as uninterested as possible as they passed each other. Jaskier didn’t look at him, but Dannet did, holding his newly stringed psaltery to his chest, beaming. 

Clever boy, just like his bard of a father. The look said it all and he knew in that moment that Dannet knew where it had come from. Geralt slowly held a finger up to his lips and Dannet mirrored the gesture quickly before turning to run and catch up with Jaskier. 

Watching the boy turn, Geralt suddenly felt extremely alone in a keep that hadn’t been this full in a very long time. And with that, he knew that his time was limited. The pass would be closing any second now and he couldn’t stay here.

Geralt would have to leave Kaer Morhen. It felt like the only right thing to do. Jaskier wouldn’t talk to him and the only peace offering he could make was his absence. 


End file.
